


Tooth and Nail

by em_gray



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bank Robbery, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Established Relationship, Fluff, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monsters, Shapeshifting, Swordfighting, Vandalism, Vigilantism, Violence, be gay do crime amirite, hell yeah dystopia time guys, i just wrote a 100k slowburn, if i want them to kiss in ch2 then that's what they're gonna heckin do, inbetween the near death experiences, it's wholesome i promise, lots and lots of it, monty and percy are chaotic bastards in this one and they WILL fuck shit up, this is by far the weirdest fic i have ever written it doesn't even have any competition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray
Summary: Percy Newton would describe his life as fairly normal - as normal as one's life can be, living in one of the last surviving settlements amidst the apocalypse. He goes to school, practices the violin, and pines for his best friend.So, yeah. Fairly normal.Until he and Monty witness something they shouldn't, secrets are revealed, and their whole lives are flipped upside down.Or, a story about monsters, corrupt governments, vigilantes, the apocalypse, and unconditional love.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 22
Kudos: 10





	1. A Shift in Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinstripedJackalope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/gifts), [goldenthunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/gifts).



> Hi everyone! So a couple months back Kay, Arwyn and I agreed on a little side fic challenge, involving us picking a couple tropes and a line of dialogue at random, and each of us having to write a different fic based on the same concepts. The AU picked was Monster AU, the tropes swordfighting and sickfic, and the line of dialogue "How do you think this ends?". So, here they are! Arwyn and Kay combined their fics for this challenge with their regular challenge fics but I did not because I have too many ideas.  
> Anyway! This fic is a very funky one, but I like to think it's also very wholesome. In its own dystopian and horror-ish way. Hope you enjoy!

“All of this is your fault.”

“Oh, just  _ get over it _ , will you?”

“If you hadn’t spent so much time flirting with that girl, we’d have caught the tram.”

“ _ We’re almost at the subway station! _ Stop complaining!”

“Monty, it’s  _ raining _ .”

“A little rain won’t kill you.”

As if on command, there’s a distant rumble of thunder, and the rain kicks up.

“You were saying?” I hiss, as I hug myself. Neither of us is even wearing a coat.

“It’s not my fault that it’s raining. I can’t control the weather, Percy.”

I sigh deeply and give up. I’m not even that pissed that we’re late. The rain is an unfortunate turn of events, but I’ve been irritated ever since I had to wait for half an hour with nothing to do but watch Monty flirt with some girl from our year. I let my violin case slide from my shoulder and pull my sweater over it, ignoring the shiver that goes through me when the rain-soaked case presses against my front.

“Besides,” Monty says cheerfully. “Now we’re out for a refreshing walk. Soaking in the charm of the Lower Levels. It’s…” He stops, foot hovering over a pile of goop on the sidewalk of indeterminate substance, then steps beside it, “...interesting.”

“I’ll throw you over the walls myself,” I say. “Let the Monsters and the Shifters have their way with you.”

Monty darts in front of me, walking backward for a while as he bats his eyelashes at me. “You’d miss me so much,” he says, voice pitching. I try to bite back the smile, but he’s spotted it, for he starts grinning. “Won’t you, darling?”

I hum vaguely, and he falls back into step beside me. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

“That I am,” he says. “But I will make it up to you. Stay over at my place tonight? I’ll make sure we get something warm for dinner, and then we can watch a movie.”

“Fine,” I mumble. Monty leans in and kisses my cheek.

We turn a corner, cross the street, and follow the city’s outer walls. Images and words sprawled in graffiti pass us by, now tinted in greyscale by the awful weather. We pass by the West Gate and cross the street again briefly to avoid the barbed wire and signs yelling in capital letters to  _ STAY AWAY FROM THE GATE. _ I nod at one of the guards holding post beside it, but I’m ignored.

The houses this close to the city border are abandoned—no one likes to be kept up at night by the sounds of eldritch beings tossing themselves at the walls, their skin-crawling shrieks or maddening whispers. Only the occasional squatter takes up residence here, but either they’re evicted quickly or they flee.

No one likes to live this close to the apocalypse.

A few houses in ruins we pass by are covered in wanted posters. I tip my chin at them. “The Gentleman Freak really is the most popular fellow in town these days, isn’t he?”

Monty tenses up. “I suppose,” he says, with a shrug.

“What do you think he’s playing at?” I’ve got nothing better to do than toss around theories about the vigilante, so might as well. “Shifters are just Monsters is disguise, right? So why is he stealing from the rich and giving it to the poor? Trying to brush up Shifters’ image?” I scoff. “That’ll take some work.”

Monty doesn’t reply, just puts his hands in his pockets.

“I’m willing to bet there’s more to it,” I continue. “Some sort of hidden scheme. Monsters don’t have the brains for those, but Shifters? They’re smart enough to pretend to be human. I bet he’s trying to sabotage the town from the inside out. So why not start out with the elite? They run the place.”

“I guess,” Monty mutters. He suddenly looks up again, grabs my arm and drags me into an alleyway. When I protest, he explains, “Shortcut to the station.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Come a lot in these quarters, do you?”

Monty just shrugs. I follow him through the narrow street, dodging garbage bins and angry cats. Above us, laundry dances on clotheslines like ghosts in the night.

“Still,” I carry on, “I’d bet he won’t last much longer. Shifters always get caught, whether they’re playing Robin Hood or not.” I notice Monty’s gone quiet. “What?”

“Hm?”

“What’s the matter? You’re awfully silent.”

“Nothing!” He looks away, shoulders pulled. “I just think it’s a waste of time to think about these things.” He steps half in front of me, suddenly grinning, and pulls back one of his sleeves to display the series of numbers written on his forearm. “Who cares about Shifters when there’s pretty girls handing out their numbers?”

My mood plummets again. I press my violin case closer. “Was she really worth the walk in this weather?” I sneer.

“Percy, did you _see_ _her_? She was gorgeous. Of course it was worth it.”

I grumble.

“Why are you even so upset about it? And don’t say because we missed the tram.” His mouth curls into a wicked grin. “You weren’t  _ jealous _ , were you?”

Which is so close to the truth my step falters. I catch my toes on a tile that’s sticking out and trip. Monty grabs me by the arm to haul me back upright. He leans in close, still grinning, and my traitorous brain is too far down the rabbit hole to keep my cool at that. I shrug off his grip in a way I hope is casual.

It is not.

“Jeez, Perce.” Monty’s starting to sound pissed as well. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” I respond out of habit. Then I add quietly, “Would it even have made a difference?”

“What?”

I’m already a few steps ahead but I stop. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I can’t just smile and play it off as a joke—why I can’t shove it all down the way I always do. Hide it. Don’t take the risk. Don’t bother.

But maybe that’s just it. Maybe this is just the one time too many.

“Would it have made a difference?” I repeat, louder.

“Would what have?”

“If I were–” I cut myself off, biting my lip. I’m still not facing him. I take a deep breath. “If I were jealous.”

Monty doesn’t reply right away, and I instantly know I made a mistake. I revealed too much. God damn it. “We should keep moving if we want to catch–”

I feel a hand on my arm and I turn. Monty’s right behind me, looking up, blue eyes catching the light. “Were you?” he asks.

I hesitate. “Answer my question first.”

His eyes move left and right ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to read what I mean from my expression. His brow furrows. When he speaks, there’s barely any sound to it. “It would make a difference,” he whispers.

My heart skips a beat. “It… It would?”

Monty nods, expression earnest. “Your turn.” He presses his lips together. “Were you jealous?”

“Yes.” It just spills out of me. A weight is lifted off my shoulders. “God, Monty, you have no  _ idea _ .” I bury my face in my hands. “Shit. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be, but–”

Gentle hands wrap themselves around my wrists, pulling them down and forcing me to look him in the eye. “Would you rather I’d be flirting with you?”

He isn’t backing away. He isn’t stopping me. He’s closing in, eyes bright and curious, and I blurt out, “If it were up to me, we’d be doing a lot more than flirting.”

A laugh escapes him. Monty claps a hand in front of his mouth, looking sheepish. Then he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Then what would you have us be doing, Newton?”

I’m almost entirely convinced this is a dream, that’s how impossible it feels. My heart is racing and I can feel his breath warm against my skin, my brain completely checking out for the night. My eyes flit down to his lips, blush burning on my cheeks. Monty smiles. He leans in, eyes closing–

There’s yelling up ahead, and we jump apart, flustered. I curse whoever that was who definitely interrupted what was about to be my first kiss with the boy I’ve been pining for for years, looking around to try and find them. It seems to have come from the North Gate up ahead.

Then the doors suddenly start to open.

Monty takes my arm and drags me back into the shadows, for which I’m glad, because I’d just have kept on gaping. We hide behind a bin as the massive doors are pulled open and my heart beats like mad. I’ve  _ never _ seen them open before. Even during executions, they just throw the felons over the walls.

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Monty whispers. We’re peeking over the edge, and I realize he’s still got his hand overtop of mine. “What are they doing?”

“They’re out of their mind, they’re going to let the creatures in–  _ Shit. _ What do we do?”

“Wait, what’s that?”

He nods ahead, and now I see it too—something metal catching the light, reflecting as what appears to be an iron cage is shoved inside. I frown to see what’s in it, as it’s dark— then I have to wonder no more when a Monster flings itself at the bars, emitting the most repulsive shriek I’ve ever heard in my life. I feel like my bones might snap in half with it. Monty’s grip on my hand tightens. Then the bars light up with electricity, and the creature is frozen static, before collapsing, sliding down against the bars.

“Why are they bringing in Monsters?” Monty says quietly. He’s pale-faced, rain dripping down his cheeks, biting the inside of his lip.

“Do you think it’s the Resistance?”

“Why would they do that?”

“They’re trying to sabotage the establishment, aren’t they?” When Monty doesn’t reply, I hoist my fiddle case back on my shoulder and whisper, “Let’s get out of here. Nothing good can come from being involved in this.”

But Monty doesn’t move.

Several people guide the cage along as it’s pulled inside. When it’s far away enough, the gate begins closing again. Then there’s whirring of machinery, scraping of metal, and the cage descends into the earth—or rather, down on a platform. When it’s disappeared from view, the latch above it slides shut.

It’s really,  _ really _ time for us to leave.

“ _ Monty _ ,” I insist, taking his wrist and pulling him along. “They’ll catch us–”

I accidentally kick against an iron lid. It rolls through the alley, making an impossibly loud clattering noise that reverberates off the walls.

We freeze.

“What was that?” one of the people near the cage calls.

“Probably just a cat?” his colleague suggests.

The first guy takes something off his belt. He’s already searching for the switch when I realize it’s a torch light.

“Run, run,  _ run _ !” I yell at Monty, taking off as the people behind shout at us. We race through the alleyway, my heart beating overtime and my breath cutting through my lungs. I clutch Monty’s hand tight all the while, and when he stumbles, I drag him along. We reach a crossroads–

Two more men appear in front of us, blocking the road, and these two are  _ armed _ . We brake, almost slipping, then turn back around, but our pursuers have caught up with us and we’re surrounded.

The one with the torch points it in our faces and we flinch back. I look aside, trying to blink away the spots in my vision, still gasping for breath.

“Wait. Isn’t that Henri Montague’s kid?” the man with the torch says.

“Did they see anything?” someone from our other side asks.

“They were lurking near the gate. We can’t take the risk.”

“Risk?” My voice pitches. Finally, the man puts the light down. “What risk?”

I’m ignored, as they go on between the four of them. “Montague is  _ not _ going to like this.”

“He’s one of the people who set up the procedures! We’re just doing our jobs.”

“What does my father have to do with this?” Monty asks. He’s practically strangling my hand. “What are you doing with that Monster?”

“See? They  _ saw _ ,” the one from before argues. “Anyone who finds out is to be shot on sight.”

“This isn’t just anyone! It’s–”

“I don’t care. Shoot them. That’s an order.”

“ _ Shoot us _ ?” Monty gasps. “But we’re–”

The two men that chased us down step aside not to get hit—the road behind us is clear, but the other two raise their guns and they’ve got a perfectly clear shot. There’s nowhere to hide.

“No! Wait!” I put up my hands. “Don’t–”

I feel a tug on the hand Monty’s holding, and suddenly he’s in front of me, hugging me as deafening shots are fired—I can only shrink down, all muscles clenched, waiting for it to be over–

It stops. If the freezing air in my lungs wasn’t tormenting me, I’d be convinced I’d died. But here I am—still breathing, with a racing heart, and with a pair of arms wrapped around me–

My heart stops.

I open my eyes. Monty’s got me pressed to his chest, his breath short in my ear, blinking open his eyes as well to look at me. He’s pale and looks shocked. He struggles to articulate words for a while, pulling in breaths that are too shallow. Eventually he manages, “I’m sorry.”

My best friend, the love of my life, who I just confessed to, just took a series of bullets for me.

“Monty,” I gasp. “Monty, no–”

I expect him to slump against me, to have to catch him as he sinks down and bleeds out in my arms before they decide to shoot me as well—but he doesn’t. He lets me go, and when he turns to face the shooters, his step is steady. I look up at him—look  _ up _ at him, as he’s suddenly a head taller than I am. The torch is pointed at us again and then I see it—a dozen bullets buried in his back, glinting as they catch the light—but something else is glinting as well, something textured covering his shoulder blades.

I realize they’re scales.

Monty shrugs violently, and the bullets clatter down on the concrete. He looks over his shoulder, giving me one more pained glance.

_ I’m sorry. _

Then he changes. His body alters, it  _ shifts _ —going from the Monty I’ve known my entire life to something beyond recognition. He grows several feet, broadening out in the shoulders, his spine curling up and breaking through his skin in a row of thorns. His hands distort into claws, nails growing out, feet doing the same, scales pressing their way through his skin all over. When he turns back to me, his face is unrecognizable, all bones and fangs and he is so far away from anything remotely resembling human—now he looks more like the Monster in the cage.

Except his eyes—their pupils are slit, the sclera blood-run, but they are the same blue as always. It’s hard to tell his expression, but I think he looks sad.

“ _ He’s a Shifter! The kid’s a Shifter! _ ”

I’m pulled from my horror by the men’s voices, shouting at each other as swords are drawn and guns are lifted. Monty—or the thing that used to be Monty—lets out an incredible roar, pulling up his arms as more bullets are fired, but he seems unaffected by them. Our attackers seem to realize this as well: they point their guns at me.

The earth trembles with it when Monty throws himself over me. I stumble on my feet and fall, curling up around my violin case and closing my eyes as all hell breaks loose around me. I hear more shooting, people screaming, but Monty’s protecting me from all sides and barely moves as he takes what I imagine must be more than a fair share of damage.

The shooting stops—I’m already surprised it took them this long to run out of bullets—and Monty rights himself again. I sneak a look between my arms—he’s looking even more monstrous than before, almost half as high as the buildings around us, face something neither human nor animal. He swipes at our attackers and they fall back, grasping for their weapons.

Then, he turns back to me.

I let out a gasp—I can’t help it. I stumble back on hands and feet, not looking away from those blue eyes. I knock into the wall, grappling at the bricks, but there’s nowhere for me to go.

Monty, though… He doesn’t look any different, but the anger is out of his expression, and the violence out of his movements. He kneels down in front of me and reaches out slowly—so slowly—then gently scoops me up in his hands. I’m lifted off the ground as he carries me close to his chest. It’s a considerable distance from the ground, and I shrink away from the edge.

There’s the sound of bones snapping, and a shadow is cast over us—from Monty’s back, two wings originate, bat-like and thorned. He spreads them wide, eclipsing the moon—then they come down and we take off. A few wing beats later and we’re over the buildings, the people below us turning into little dots.

And like that, we are off into the night.


	2. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting two chapters only hours apart..... i was peer pressured..... i am weak..... anyway enjoy there's some soft times up ahead

I’ve no idea how long we’ve been up in the air. I don’t dare to look. I’m curled up on my side, hugging my violin to my chest and trembling because of the cold air. The only thing I can hear is the wind and the steady rhythm of wing beats.

I have the impression we’re losing height, and a few moments later, I’m rattled to the bone as Monty lands. I hadn’t even realized he was shrinking down but he was—now he needs both arms to carry me instead of just one hand. I risk a peek at our surroundings—we’re on the top of an apartment building, the rest of the city below us. There’s a door leading to a staircase that Monty goes down, until we’re inside and in an empty room. I get the impression this place was abandoned a long time ago.

Monty tries to put me down on my feet—still avoiding my eyes—but I’m feeling so faint that I slink to the ground straight away. He guides me until I’m sitting and I find the strength in my limbs again to crawl away from him, clutching the straps on my violin case and trembling.

He watches me for a moment, looking sad, then his head snaps back and the sound of bones breaking starts again. I want to look away but I can’t—I’m paralyzed, forced to watch as he shrinks down to his normal height, as his claws turn back into hands and feet, fangs shortening until they disappear behind his lips, wings pulling into his back and his scales turning back to pale skin. When he’s done, he sits down, pulling up his bare legs and hugging them to his chest, face buried in his arms.

We stay like that for a while, sitting with several feet between us as I gape at him and he hides his face. I’m still out of breath, soaked from the rain and shivering, unable to make sense of what I’ve witnessed tonight.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so thin and muffled I’m not sure if I didn’t imagine it. “Please don’t hate me.”

“ _ Hate you _ ?” It’s left me before I can stop it. I’m half hysterical. “I don’t even know who you  _ are _ .”

He flinches, curling further into himself.

“I…” I run a hand through my hair, using the other to put down my fiddle case. “I…  _ Are _ you even Monty?  _ My _ Monty that I know and love?”

It was too good to be true, it was too good to be true—Monty could never love me back. This is a trick, a Shifter that’s taken his place. I thought he loved me back but he isn’t—he isn’t even–

“Yes,” he says quietly. “It’s always been me.”

“I’m just supposed to  _ believe that _ ? I…” I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. “When… When we were kids, we always played pirates. What was my alias?”

Monty huffs. He sounds so exhausted and near tears. “Two Tooth the Terrible.”

“Captain,” I correct him out of habit, and he lets out a huff. “When… Christmas, when we were thirteen. You kissed Richard Peele and he snitched. What did I do?”

He’s still not looking at me, but I hear the smile in his voice. “You bashed his tooth out with a pool cue.”

“And when we…” Oh my god, that  _ is _ Monty, my darling Monty, my lifetime best friend, the love of my– “When you got kicked out of school, and I found you in the garden, and you told me… What did I say to you?”

“You gave me five reasons not to be dead.” He finally looks up. I realize he’s crying.

“Oh my god, Monty.” I’m not sure if I want to hug him or move away. “What the  _ hell _ ?”

He lets out a laugh. “Pretty much.”

He’s looking so afraid and alone, and in that moment, I decide,  _ To hell with it _ . Whatever else is going on here—Monty needs me. My best friend needs me. That’s what he is, first and foremost: my friend. No matter what else. I pull my sweater over my head and move closer to him. His eyes dart between me and the object I’m holding out. “Aren’t you… Aren’t you scared of me?”

“Should I be?”

He scoffs, and the tension dissipates from his shoulders. He gives me a watery smile as he accepts the sweater. “No.”

He pulls it over his head, the fact that he’s so much shorter than me makes it pool around his waist. He’s still shivering, so I kick off my shoes and take off my trousers as well.

His eyes widen. “You don’t have to–”

“Just take it.”

In the end we’re sitting opposite to each other, knees together, Monty in my outer clothes and me in just my shirt and boxers. It’s far too damn cold for this, but I’ll live.

Monty’s still got his arms folded atop his knees, looking sickly but cozy. I notice his pupils are still split. He gives me a weak smile. “Sorry. I don’t usually mess up my clothes when I shift.”

I raise an eyebrow. “ _ Usually _ ?”

He casts his eyes down. “Guess I have some explaining to do, huh.”

“You  _ guess _ ?”

A laugh escapes him. “That’s fair.” He swallows. “God, where do I even start?”

“Maybe when  _ this _ started? Or have you always…?”

He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. It’s, uh… It started shortly after I was expelled.”

My jaw drops. “Two years ago?” When he just nods in confirmation, I ask gently, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to,” he says. “I called you, actually. But you didn’t pick up right away and then I got scared because—this isn’t  _ normal _ , is it? It’s… I’m one of those creatures everyone’s afraid of. One of the monsters we built ten feet thick walls against.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know!” He suddenly looks tired. “I wish I knew. I was just in my room and I had this strange… feeling. Something like growing pains. And I felt like my joints just didn’t sit quite…  _ right _ , so I tried to pop them, and, uh…” He laughs painfully. “I dislocated my shoulder. And then I tried to fix it and it just got worse and worse. Started shifting and I couldn’t stop.”

Our hands have been resting beside each other atop our knees. I curl my ring finger around his.

He stares at it for a while, then continues, “Took the whole night to pull myself back together. It was the worst in the beginning. I could barely move without suddenly having three elbows in one arm.” He pulls up his shoulders. “But I… got the hang of it. Initially just to hide it, but it comes in handy sometimes.”

“So…” This is crazy. All of this is crazy. “What can you do?”

“Change my appearance,” he says through a sigh. “Not exactly rocket science, but no walk in the park either.”

“Change your appearance how? Is it just…” I vaguely nod, referencing to earlier, “...or could you also, say, turn into someone else?”

He frowns. “Theoretically, I suppose. Other people are difficult, though. It requires precision. Shifting wings and claws…” he makes one fingernail grow, carefully checking for my reaction, “...is like… throwing a bucket of paint at a canvas. In comparison, imitating others is like putting on perfect eyeliner.”

I chuckle. “Makes sense.”

“It’s not all… monster stuff, though,” he says. “Here. Look.” He takes a lock of his hair between his index and thumb. He pulls on it, slowly, and it starts to grow. The new part isn’t blonde anymore, though, it’s purple.

“Whoa,” I say. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”

He smiles, eyes cast down.

“Wait. Is this why you’ve been dyeing your hair in every possible color for the past few years?”

“Well. I didn’t dye it.” He absent-mindedly starts twisting the lock into a braid. “If I have to turn into a horrifying monster occasionally for the rest of my life, might as well reap the benefits.”

I smile and squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to freak out earlier. I just… wish you told me.”

He hums. “You’d just found out you had epilepsy. And I… just told you that I…” He sighs. “I guess I didn’t want to be more of a burden.”

“Monty.” I reach out and lift his chin, making him meet my eyes. He’s looking so afraid. “You’ll never be a burden to me, okay? I don’t care if it’s that you’re feeling low or that you’re a shapeshifter.” He huffs at that. “I’ll always be there for you.”

His pupils are still more reptilian than human, a thin line cutting those bright blue eyes, but in that moment they broaden out until his irises are just thin edges around it. I hadn’t even realized how close we are. He’s still pale, eyes slightly red from crying, faint traces of scales running down his jaw and neck. I trace them with my thumb. Monty’s looking at me, something in his gaze that I don’t dare to name. It makes my cheeks burn. I cast my eyes down and say, “I guess we should–”

“Can I still kiss you?”

I look up again. He’s still so close, watching me wide-eyed, but now that crease of uncertainty creeps into his brow. He looks away. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking– God, this must be so weird for you. I’m sorry, Perce, I can’t expect for you to…” he flinches, “...not after...”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

And I am so utterly disarmed by those eyes. “Yes,” he whispers.

“I’d still like to kiss you too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Even though…?”

“Well. You’re still Monty, aren’t you? My lifelong best friend?”

“I… I am.”

“Then… Yes. I still want to kiss you.”

“Oh. That’s… That’s great!”

“Guess we should just… do it, then.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

We laugh, both of us blushing like mad. We calm down, gaze locking. I caress his cheek with my thumb. He presses the tip of his tongue to his upper lip, looking directly at my mouth. My breath catches. We move in.

It’s such a sweet kiss. I don’t have an awful lot of experience to compare it to—still, it’s slow, gentle and hesitant, a little afraid but so, so patient. When we finally move back, we’re still red-faced and smiling.

“Whoa,” Monty says, letting out a breathy laugh. “If you’d told me this morning you’d find out about my shifting today and that you’d still kiss me right after, I’d…”

“Well.” And this is in no way, in years of imagining it, how I ever thought confessing would go. “I have been in love with you for years.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

I shrug, casting my eyes down. “Really thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”

He takes my face in both his hands and makes me look up at him. “I love you too,” he says quietly.

I let out a laugh, a little scared and a little relieved, resting my forehead against his. He presses a kiss to my cheek. His head slides down until it’s resting against my chest, and I wrap my arms around him. He mellows against me. Tonight feels unreal—it’s hard to believe that the creature who stood his ground against four men and the boy looking so small in my arms is one and the same.

But I’m already goddamn exhausted. Monty is a Shifter and he loves me back. I can live with that.

“Um,” Monty says, muffled in my shirt. “Before you, uh, properly decide you… love me, or anything, there’s one more thing you should know.”

I push myself away from him so I can see his face, dread filling me up.

“So,” Monty says, dragging out the word and pointedly avoiding my eyes. “Remember that charming vigilante we were discussing earlier?”

My mouth falls open. “Oh, Monty. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

He does a weak version of jazz hands.

“ _ You’re _ the Gentleman Freak?”

He winces. “Ugh, I hate that name. Did  _ not _ pick it myself.” He gently pushes himself away from me so he can sit up. “I would’ve chosen something far more tasteful.”

“Monty.” I take his face in my hands. “ _ Why _ have you been stealing things?”

He shrugs. “It sort of started by accident.”

“How do you  _ accidentally _ steal things?”

“The stealing was not by accident. That was very much on purpose. I just… didn’t mean for it to become a thing.” He lets himself fall against my chest again, legs curled up. “Um. One night, I’d just had… a conversation with Father. And I was just… so  _ sick _ of it, so sick of not being able to do anything. I was so mad I shifted on accident. And then I realized… that gave me an option.” He wipes at his nose. “No one would be able to recognize me like this. No one would know. So I… waited for him to leave and broke into his vault.”

“Oh, Monty.”

“Yeah, yeah. So I stole some cash, right? But then I realized they’d come looking for it. I panicked and fled to the Lower Levels, where I hid the money in a place I thought was abandoned. A few days later I came back for it, except someone else already found it.”

I wrap an arm around him.

“Just some family that lived in the neighborhood. At first I just wanted to take it back, because I thieved it in the first place, but then I realized… They didn’t have much, and what was I going to do with the money anyway? I had everything I needed. So I decided to leave it.” He smiles faintly. “I didn’t steal anything else for months after that. But the seed had been planted. And every time I just got angry at the world, angry at my father and angry at myself, I got this urge and I… I couldn’t fix up my own life. So I figured I might as well help someone else.”

He stops, eyes on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. I don’t say anything right away. It’s a lot to take in—Monty has this whole second life I knew nothing about. I lift a hand and start running it through his hair. “I had no idea,” I say quietly. “It’s very noble of you, though. Crazy, but noble.”

He smiles, looking exhausted. “I did save our lives today, didn’t I?” A deep sigh. “ _ God. _ I feel like I could sleep for three days straight.”

“Do you want to?” I offer. “Sleep?”

He drops his head against me. “Yes, please.”

I lie back slowly, guiding him along until we’re curled up together on the floor. It’s cold, the rain still raging outside, and in nothing but my underthings, I’m shivering.

“Do you want your sweater back?” Monty asks.

I shake my head, eyes closed. “You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t react, and I think that will be the end of it. I’m already starting to doze. Then Monty’s voice comes again, very quietly. “Heads up.”

I blink one eye open. “Heads up for what?”

Then I hear it - that awful noise, flesh and bones growing much faster than they were ever supposed to. From behind Monty’s back rises a single wing. Unlike the pair he used to fly with earlier, this one is white and feathered, like a bird’s, or an angel’s. He carefully puts it overtop of me, spread slightly, and the whole world disappears behind a soft blanket of feathers.

I stare at it for a while. When I look back at his face, I find his expression hesitant. A bit afraid.

“Did you just ruin my sweater?” I ask.

He lets out a surprised laugh. “Your sweater’s fine. I shifted through it. Here, see–”

He turns a bit to show me, and I look away, laughing. “I do  _ not _ need to see. It sounds gross.”

Monty rolls back onto his side. When I consider it safe to look again, I find that he’s pouting. “It’s not! Percy, how dare you call anything about me  _ gross _ . I’m the most beautiful person you’ve ever met.”

I hum, closing my eyes again. “Whatever you say. Night, Monty.”

There’s a long silence, during which I think he might already have fallen asleep. Then he says, voice no more than a whisper, “Night, Percy.”

I wake up to the feeling of being watched.

It takes a while before it really alerts me. The floor is hard and cold but I’m warm, thanks to the blanket over me and the weight in my arms snuggled close. Monty sighs contently in his sleep, curling further into me, the wing spread over us gently rustling as he does. I’m sore all over but I’m willing to ignore it to not have to get up just yet.

_ You are not alone _ , something in me says.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. The whole world is composed of white feathers, but through them, I see shadows. I disentangle an arm from around Monty and carefully pry the wing aside.

We are indeed not alone. Three people stand in the doorway, giving off an air of boredom but looking up when they see me moving. I start, stumbling back on hands and feet and pulling Monty along with me. He hums, sleepily and confused, then he opens his eyes and sees our company. His eyes fall onto the single feathered wing still coming from his back and looks terrified - then he scrambles to his feet, fully on guard and angry. Painful-looking spikes emerge from his wing, opposite hand shifting into a claw.

“Who are you?” he demands, decisively putting an arm in front of me. “How did you find us?”

“We saw a winged creature fly all across town and land here,” the girl up front wearing a hijab says dryly. “It’s a miracle no one beat us here.”

“Do you work for the Council?” I ask.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Emphatically not. We’re with the Resistance.”

The  _ Resistance _ . Shit. That’s equally bad, if you have to believe the stories.

“What do you want from us?” Monty snaps.

“To talk,” the girl says. “The both of you are in a pretty tight spot and we think we can help out.”

“Like we believe that.” Monty’s teeth are growing and curving, appearing from behind his lips.

“Look. I’m not sure if the news reached you, but there’s a city-wide manhunt out for you two. You’ve got a few hours left tops before they find you. We are your only option.”

“How do we even know you won’t hand us out?” I say. “Or do something even worse to us?”

The girl considers me, then rolls her eyes. “We don’t have time for this,” she says through a sigh. She nods back at the woman behind us, who pulls out a gun and fires twice so fast I don’t even react until after it’s happened. I feel a sharp pain in my neck and lift a hand to it— what falls into my palm is a fine-tipped dart.

Monty’s been about to lash out but the first step he takes, he stumbles. He looks back at me, panic in his eyes.

Then everything goes dark.


	3. Resisting

I wake up to a killer headache.

I’m lying on a bed. My throat is swollen and my head feels stuffed with cotton.  _ Ugh. _ What time did Monty and I get home last night? My house or his? I feel around, too tired to open my eyes, but instead of finding someone lying next to me, my hand goes straight over the edge of the bed. There’s a wall on my other side. I frown. That can’t be right.

I open my eyes. The room I’m in is grey and concrete, its door ajar and distant conversations filtering through. It’s empty, aside from two beds—mine, and…

“Monty!” I jump to my feet. My head is spinning so I almost keel straight over. I spot a pile of clothing at the end of my bed, and I suddenly become acutely aware of the fact that I am still in my underthings. I make a snatch for the clothes and put them on quickly, then stumble across the room. I nearly trip over my own feet. I drop down to my knees next to the other bed.

Monty is still out cold, singular wing resting overtop of him and claw folded under his head. He frowns when I try to shake him awake, groaning something that sounds like “Five more minutes”.

“Monty,” I whisper. I keep glancing over my shoulder at the door in panic, still pulling the sweater over my head. “Monty, they took us somewhere. We have to get out.”

He opens one eye, which darts through the room, then he sits up. His wing bumps into the wall and he lets out a yelp. “Where are we?”

“No idea.” I hear footsteps in the hallway. “ _ Shit _ , we have to hurry.”

Monty stands up, almost canting over because of the wing’s weight. He starts shifting it into his back again, other hand clawing simultaneously and he grows a few feet. I look for anything to arm myself with and find nothing but my fiddle case, resting against my bed. I grab it. The door opens–

It’s the girl from before. She raises an eyebrow when she sees our attack formation. “Oh. I see you’re up.”

“Where are we?” Monty demands. “Let us go  _ right now _ or I’ll–”

“Relax, relax.” She waves him away. “You’re at one of the Crown and Cleaver hideouts. You’re free to leave whenever you like.” With that, she steps aside, leaving the door wide open for us.

Monty and I exchange a glance. I refuse to let my guard down this easily, though. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“No trick,” she says evenly. “You can walk out. But you will get arrested within minutes.”

“So it  _ is _ a threat,” Monty says, eyes narrowing. “If you’re going to kidnap us again straight away, why even bother letting us go in the first place?”

“ _ We _ aren’t going to arrest you.” She rests her head back against the wall, exasperated. “You’re wanted by the government, remember? Assault of four officers. Well, technically they’re looking for you,” she nods at me and my heart vaults, “and a Shifter, likely the Gentleman Freak, or whatever they’re calling you.” She watches Monty for a while. “Looks like your father is purposefully keeping your name out of it, Mr. Montague.”

Monty literally shrinks a few inches. “My… My father knows?”

“Well, he is a member of the Council. And something like this would definitely be run by them.”

Monty deflates even further. “ _ Shit _ ,” he whispers. He grabs onto me for support, though I do bat him away as he’s still got claws for hands. Instead, I loop an arm around his back and ask quietly, “You all right?”

“Father is going to kill me,” he whispers.

“I won’t let him,” I reply, which gets a faint smile out of him.

“Your father doesn’t cover the scope of your problems,” the girl says. “If the Council gets their hands on you at this point, getting thrown over the wall will only be the finishing touch of what they’ll put you through.”

“But–  _ Why?! _ ” This is insane. Yesterday everything was fine and now we’re suddenly wanted fugitives? “We didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Well, your friend’s a Shifter, so that alone would be enough. But there’s also the assault of officers.”

“They were going to kill us!” Monty protests. “Because we…” He frowns, lost in thought. “Because we saw something we shouldn’t have.” He looks back up at the girl. “And now they’re after us?”

“You’re quite safe here, don’t worry. This base’s location is very well guarded. And we removed your chips—you’re welcome.”

I sling my violin case over my shoulder, now free hand flying up to my left wrist. There’s indeed a thin red line and a series of sutures there. I gape at it.

“I would have advised against shifting until it was healed, though,” the girl adds, eyes on Monty’s left claw.

Monty opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. He lifts his left arm and shifts the claw back into a hand. The red line on his wrist appears, but unlike mine it’s actively bleeding, droplets running down over the written phone number beneath it. “What the hell?” he says. “That  _ hurts _ .” He shifts his other hand back as well and clasps it around his hurt wrist, pressing it to his chest.

“We’ll get you fixed up again in the hospital ward. This way.”

We follow her through a maze of hallways. It’s meagerly furnished, with lots of bare walls and crates all over, as if the occupants haven’t been here for very long—or might need to move again quickly. I get the sense we’re underground, as I’ve yet to spot a single window. It’s quiet, too. We only occasionally come across someone else, and when we do, they barely look up.

“That was a brand new chip,” Monty mutters at me. “I didn’t even get the chance to test the supposedly faster Net connection.”

“Do you trust them?” I ask in a hushed voice, ignoring his complaints. I eye the girl walking a few feet in front of us.

Monty shrugs. “As long as they’re not actively trying to hurt us, we might as well stick around and see what we can learn.” He hugs his injured wrist closer. “Though it was very rude to remove our chips without our permission.”

“I suppose they had no other choice. Since they can track us.” I bite my lip. “Do you really believe there’s a manhunt out for us?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “You know how they feel about Shifters,” he then says quietly.

I do know. Shifters and Monsters are the infestation behind the apocalypse. If any are found, they’re tossed over the wall without a second glance. Everyone thinks they’re the enemy. Hell,  _ I _ believed they were the enemy until less than twenty-four hours ago.

I put my arm around Monty again.

We arrive at the hospital ward. Like everything else, it’s bare and basic: six beds, one of them taken. The girl sits Monty down on another bed and returns a bit later with a nurse. She pulls out a set of needles and Monty goes white. Several sharp-looking spikes rise out of his arm and the nurse pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile as he makes the thorns disappear. “Reflex.”

I end up sitting next to him on the bed, him burying his face in my chest as the nurse sedates his hand and gets to work on the stitches. Honestly, the sight makes me a bit light-headed myself, so I look away.

“Now,” the girl says, as the nurse is still halfway Monty’s wound, “let’s get down to it. I’m Sim. You’re Percy Newton and Henry Montague.”

“Monty,” he corrects her, muffled by my sweater.

“You two saw something. What was it?”

Monty seems to be too preoccupied with being squeamish, so I answer, “They were bringing in a Monster from outside. I’ve no idea where they took it.”

Sim nods earnestly. “Yes, they have been at that for a while.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “We’re not sure. We think they’re experimenting.”

“On Monsters?” Monty looks up. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re not sure about how or why. But we have our suspicions.” She pauses. “How much do you two know?”

“About?”

“All of it. Monsters, Shifters, the government…” She looks us in the eye. “Have you ever wondered what caused the apocalypse?”

I open my mouth to reply—it’s such an obvious question. Monty beats me to it, though. “We don’t have to wonder.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? What caused it, then?”

“It–” Monty trails off, frowning. “The Monsters and Shifters, right?”

“And what caused those?”

That leaves us both dumbfounded.

“I’ve… never really thought about that,” I admit.

“Me neither,” Monty mutters. His eyes widen. “Do you know why they exist? Can you tell me why I became a Shifter?”

“...I’m afraid not exactly.” She purses her lips. “Our research teams are doing all they can. We’ve already learned quite a lot. But as to the why… We have suspicions, but that’s it.”

Monty takes it in for a moment. “But you can tell me more? About… shifting?”

“Yes. Well, we’ve got quite a few Shifters among us, and I’m sure they’re more than happy to help you out.”

Monty’s eyes light up.

“Until we can get you to one of them, I can tell you some things. The most important thing to remember is to stay away from human blood in monster form. It’ll mess you up. Do not, under  _ any _ circumstances, ingest any. Then there’s of course the warning not to shift if you’re injured, which seemed rather obvious to me…” she watches as the nurse finishes up the stitches, “...but I guess I have to state it out loud anyway. Furthermore—you probably already noticed you need a lot of rest after you shift.”

Monty nods. “If I’ve gone full monster for more than half an hour, I could sleep for a whole day.”

“Exactly. I also have to warn you about injuries in monster form. Not sure if you have any experience with those…?” When Monty shakes his head, she continues, “Avoid shifting back if you’ve got anything more serious than bruises. Your body doesn’t know how to properly translate those so it could get nasty. And–”

She’s cut off abruptly when an alarm starts blaring.

We all look up. The nurse, who had been packing her things, exchanges a panicked look with Sim.

“Go to the tunnels,” Sim says, jaw set.

The nurse nods and rushes over to the other patient in the room, waking him up.

“I’m guessing that’s not just to announce lunch break?” Monty offers.

“The base has been breached.” Sim reaches into her boot and pulls out some kind of sharp looking weapon. “I don’t understand how they–”

The whole place seems to shake. Sim almost loses her footing and as I’d been standing up, I fall back onto the bed.

“We have to go,” Sim says. “Right now.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I drag myself back to my feet, pulling Monty with me, and follow Sim out of the door.

In the hallways, people are running by, away from gunfire in the distance. There’s screaming, both human and inhuman, and sounds of battle. Monty grabs onto my arm and we exchange a terrified look.

“There’s dozens of them!” one man running by shouts at Sim, not even stopping long enough to get a reply.

Sim runs toward the noise and against better judgment, we follow her. We barely turn two corners before Sim almost crashes into the other girl who was there when they kidnapped us. She’s bleeding from her arm.

“They must’ve followed us when we brought them in.” She nods at Monty and I, out of breath. “Blew up the north entrance and are making their way through. I saw three of our Shifters fighting but they can’t take it. The Commodore told us to abandon ship.”

“Where is he?” Sim asks, teeth gritted.

The girl looks back to where she came from, uncomfortably.

Sim nods. “All right. You go ahead.”

She wants to start running again, but the girl grabs her arm. “Wait. It’s dangerous. He wouldn’t want you there–”

“I don’t want him there either, but does he ever listen to me? Now  _ go _ .”

She urges the girl to keep moving, who complies after one last glance. Sim takes a deep breath. Then she turns to us. “You two should get out of here too. If you follow the others, you’ll find the tunnels. Hide there until the dust settles.”

“But–” Monty protests. “We can help! I can–” He swallows, pale with fear. “I can fight.”

I take his hand. “Monty, please–”

“No,” Sim says curtly. “You’re new at this. Our best fighters are out there and they’re losing. Make sure you get out, get  _ better _ , and live to fight another day.”

With that, she turns around and leaves.

We stay there for a long time, a rock displacing the stream of people running for their lives, frozen in horror as we listen to the distant sounds of battle. Monty’s strangling my hand, staring ahead wide-eyed and with his lips pressed together.

I know what he’s thinking. Still, I try to talk him out of it. “Monty. There is nothing you can do. We have to leave,  _ now _ .”

“They followed us,” he says. “The Crown and Cleaver went out of their way to help us, and now they’re being attacked for it.”

I step in front of him. “You don’t  _ know that _ . It could be a coincidence.”

“These are people that can  _ help me _ , Percy.” His voice pitches with desperation. “There’s people like me. I have to help.”

“Sim said–”

“I know what she said! But she’s going back there too, isn’t she?” He takes my hands, then looks down. “I’m not asking you to come with me.”

I watch him for a while. His hair is a mess and he’s looking more afraid than I’ve ever seen him.

I sigh in surrender. “You know I’ll go wherever you go.”

He looks up, beaming. A smile curls his mouth like he can’t help himself—then he throws his arms around my neck and kisses me.

It’s intense, a lot of things unsaid, amid all the people running by—but it’s also much too short. “I love you so fucking much,” he whispers against my lips. Then he takes my hand and we run.

“You know that we’re probably going to die, right?!” I yell at him as we go in the exact opposite direction as everyone is running from.

“Yep!”

I laugh, mostly from incredulity. “I’m still not entirely convinced you’re not an imposter. The Monty I know would run the other way if there’s trouble.”

He looks back, and I could be imagining it, but I think there’s some hurt in his eyes at that. I don’t have time to question it, though, as we round a corner and arrive at the scene of the battle. I stop so suddenly I almost fall over and pull Monty back into hiding with me. We peek from behind the corner.

It’s a mess. Walls have been torn down, furniture smashed to pieces, bullet holes in wood and concrete, rubble everywhere. I see a few people lying motionless and my heart stops. A handful of people are kneeling on the floor with their hands behind their heads, in front of a row of people in uniforms aiming their weapons at them. There really are so many of them. A few are surrounding what has to be a Shifter in monster form, back bent and shoulders heaving, eyes on the floor. I get the impression that they’re hurt.

“Shift back!” one of the officers shouts at them. “Now or we  _ will _ shoot again.”

“No!”

One of the Resistance people has stood up, darting for the Shifter, but he’s apprehended with a kick to the gut. He collapses against the floor. “Please,” he still cries, “she’s hurt. If she shifts now, it could kill her.”

“If she doesn’t shift,  _ we’ll _ kill her.”

The Shifter turns her head back slightly, making eye contact with the man who’d stood up for her. Then she starts shrinking—with the sound of breaking bones and low whines of pain. Monty squeezes my hand so hard it hurts.

A minute later, the twelve foot tall creature is nothing but a human being curled up on the floor, crying and shivering. She’s hugging herself. Her side is absolutely drenched in blood.

Footsteps approach and Monty and I duck back on reflex. When we dare to sneak a look again, three new people have joined the room: two officers accompanying another man: tall and broad-shouldered and looking furious. His hands are cuffed behind his back.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Aldajah,” the officer who seems to be in charge says. “Wonderful day, don’t you think? The Resistance falls at last.”

Aldajah doesn’t reply, just stares him down. His eyes briefly dart aside to the injured Shifter, who’s currently being dragged to her feet.

“I’m sure the Council will be very happy to see you. I personally can’t wait to see each and every one of you tossed over the wall.”

I feel someone grab the back of my sweater and almost gasp out loud. I shrug off their grip and turn–

“ _ What are you two doing here? _ ” Sim hisses, gesturing for us to move further back. She’s still got her weapon in her hand, eyes straying to the scene behind the corner.

“We want to help,” Monty whispers.

“You can’t. It’s too late.” She pushes past us to look. Her jaw sets. “We’ve already lost.”

Still, something of the tension in her posture makes me think she’s still trying to convince herself of that.

I come to stand behind her, eyeing the row of captives. “What’s going to happen to them?” I ask quietly.

“Imprisonment,” Sim says. “The shortest trial of the century. Then…”

“There has to be something we can do!” Monty insists. “I can help.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time. Her lips are pursed, gaze hard, and I know she’s considering it. She doesn’t want to give up just yet.

Then, Aldajah spots us. He locks eyes with Sim and, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head.

“Let’s get out of here,” I mumble.

“Hey! There’s some more of them!”

One of the officers is pointing straight at us, and my heart tries to escape my chest via my throat. I grab Monty and Sim’s wrist and almost trip over myself in my hurry to  _ get the hell away from here. _

They come after us straight away. Sim fortunately takes the lead, guiding us through the maze as I run faster than I ever have in my life. Monty shifts his legs longer and more muscular, almost as a panic response, and he’s ahead of us in seconds. There’s shouting behind us, gunfire opened, and if it wasn’t for the insane amount of bends in these hallways, we’d be shot already. An infinite number of doors passes us by and I don’t look back, can’t look back—there’s only the air cutting my lungs and the strain of panic in my chest and the certainty that I’m going to die.

Sim pulls us through a particularly heavy door, trying to close it behind us. Monty and I both put our weight into it, footsteps coming so much too close, then Sim turns the wheel and I hear a series of locks. It’s darker here, and cold and damp—distantly, I hear water dripping. We all take a step back, gasping for breath as we watch the door.

“ _ They went in here! _ ” someone shouts at the other side. Something slams against the door and we all take it like a physical hit. They try to break it open with brute force but it holds.

“ _ Shoot out the lock _ ,” someone else orders.

“Run,” Sim says.

So we turn around and  _ run _ for our lives.


	4. Radio Silence

We keep nervously glancing over our shoulder as Sim unlocks the door to the apartment. It’s early in the evening and we haven’t yet run into anyone in this building. Monty’s holding my hand with both of his, staying close to my side.

The door opens. We hurry inside and Sim locks it again behind us.

We’re in a modest apartment: a handful of rooms with simple furniture, all of it in earth tones, curtains drawn and the air stale. Outside, the tram rushes by.

Sim immediately darts over to the living room. We follow her and see her taking a cardboard box from one of the cabinets, putting it down on the dinner table and unloading its contents. It’s some very old looking tech—once it’s all on the tabletop, she shoves the box aside and starts assembling the parts. As the final piece, she plugs in a bulky pair of headphones and puts them on her head. She presses a button on the device.

“This is location Echo Five Nine to all receiving. There’s been a raid on headquarters. All receiving, please respond, over.” She lets go of the button, waits for five seconds, then pushes it again. “I repeat. This is Echo Five Nine. There’s three of us here who made it out. All receiving, please respond.”

She waits again, jaw set.

Nothing happens.

She sighs. “This could take a while. Everyone who made it out has to shake their pursuers and reach a safehouse. And the other hideouts might not have heard the news yet.” She glances at us, and her gaze softens. “There should be something edible in the kitchen. These places are regularly restocked. Or, should be.”

I nod, taking the hint, and put an arm around Monty to guide him along. When we’re in the kitchen, I close the door behind us. I let out a heavy sigh and lean against the table. Monty pulls a chair back and slides into it, resting his head on folded arms. He groans and I laugh, wearily.

Monty looks up, opening one eye. “What?”

“Nothing. I just agree wholeheartedly.”

He chuckles, then buries his face in his arms again. “I’m  _ exhausted _ .”

I hum. I carefully put down my fiddle case—feeling thankful that in spite of everything, I still have it with me—and make my way to the fridge. God, I’m sore.

The fridge isn’t filled to the brim, but after not having eaten since what feels like forever, I’m grateful for just about anything edible. I scour the kitchen cabinets as well and carefully select the food that will take the least amount of preparation time, which ends up being a bag of chips. I sit down next to Monty, help myself to a handful, then push it over to him. He pulls the bag in his lap and starts veritably shoving them in his mouth.

“A shift takes a lot of energy, darling,” he says when he notices me staring. Then, reluctantly, he puts the bag within my reach again. “Only because I love you.”

I hum.

“You didn’t find anything to drink in there, did you?” He nods at the fridge.

“Hm? Oh.” I swallow my mouthful. “Yeah. Some soda, milk, pretty sure I saw some tea bags in the cabinets.” I frown. “We should check if the taps work, if we’ll be staying here for a while.” I’m trying very hard not to think about all the things that implies.

“No,” Monty says. “I mean a  _ drink _ .”

Oh. I frown at him. “Seriously?  _ Now _ ?”

“After all the trouble we went through, I think I deserve it,” he says casually. He picks up the somehow already near-empty bag of chips, tipping it up so the remaining pieces fall into his mouth.

A spark of irritation goes through me. I clench my teeth and keep my voice even. “No, I didn’t see anything.”

Monty tosses the bag onto the table and stands up. “Maybe you didn’t look well enough.”

“Does it matter?” My tone spikes, I can’t help it.

Monty glances at me from behind the fridge door, suddenly hostile. “Of course it does, darling. Life is about to get uncomfortable enough without having to be stone-cold sober.”

“The rest of us manage just fine.”

Monty opens his mouth to retort, but in that moment Sim comes in, so he settles on a glare and goes back to rummaging around in the fridge.

“No response yet,” Sim says, crossing her arms, “but it’s early. Until then, here’s what’s going to happen: we’re going to lie low here until we know more. Neither of you leaves this apartment. I’ll be the one going out for groceries when we need them. Stay away from the windows. No loud noises. Nothing to attract any attention that might lead to us getting caught. Understood?”

I’m too tired to think. I just nod.

Monty hums something, then goes back to examining the fridge. Sim lets her shoulders slump. Her posture goes from confident to protective, almost like she’s hugging herself, eyes soft.

“Get some rest,” I say. “I’ll try to make dinner.”

She nods, and the next second, that discomfort is gone. “I’ll be listening in for transmissions.”

I do my very best at throwing something together—which is not very good, given my limited cooking experience. Monty sulks about, mindlessly exploring the apartment, and Sim waits for transmissions. Monty and I share dinner in the kitchen. Sim doesn’t want to stray away from the radio, so I bring her a plate.

Which is when I focus on another unfortunate truth: I only have medication for a few more days. I already missed a few doses with everything going on. Altogether, it’s not looking great.

After dinner, I head back to Sim, whose food is mostly untouched, attention still on the radio. She looks up when I approach.

“Hey, uh, Sim.” I clear my throat awkwardly. “If we’re going to be hiding out here for a while, there’s something else you should know.”

I explain to her that I have epilepsy and while the medication should somewhat keep it under control, it’s not impossible for me to have a seizure while we’re here. “Also, my meds will only last until the end of the week, so…”

She nods in understanding, then pushes a pen and a notepad in my direction. “Write down what you need. I’ll see what I can do.”

Night falls and Monty and I claim one of the two bedrooms for ourselves. The wardrobes seem to hold a decent amount of clothes. I find us some pajamas (which end up being just a bit too small for me) and brush my teeth in the tiny bathroom. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I veritably start. I really do look awful. I try running a hand through my hair but it’s really hopeless. I sigh, and give up for the day.

Monty isn’t in our room. I find his pajamas on the bed, right where I left them for him.

A quick search of the apartment yields little result. I frown. On my way back to our room, I catch a shadow in the hallway.

“Monty?”

He starts like a criminal caught in the act, hand on the doorknob. He turns and presses his back to the door, as if that might conceal it, giving me a forced smile.

“...What are you doing?” I ask, voice flat.

“Hm? Me? Oh.” He looks at the door, then laughs awkwardly. “Nothing. Just thought I’d go for a bit of fresh air.”

“Monty. We’re wanted.”

“No one will see, it’s dark. And what are the odds anyone’s nearby, anyway? And even if they’d find me, I can still shift and–”

“Monty.”

The weariness in my voice makes him stop. He lowers his head. “Sorry.”

“Let’s…” I cross the hall and gently help him out of his coat. I give him a tired half-smile. “Let’s just go to bed.”

We don’t say much as we fall asleep, his head on my chest and me stroking his hair until I get too tired for it. We’re both thinking and trying not to think about this sudden turns our lives have taken.

But at least we have each other, I comfort myself.

Monty’s always been the most important thing in my life, anyway.

I wake in a bewildered frenzy, gasping for breath. Images of a nightmare fade quicker than I can grab onto them. It takes me a while to remember where I am. The room is dark and the bed is warm, but Monty isn’t there.

I stumble half-asleep through the apartment, catching that it’s three in the morning on a clock. Sim I find exactly where I left her, in the living room with a pair of headphones on.

“This is Echo Five Nine to all receiving,” she says quietly. “All receiving, please respond.”

I decide not to bother her. I don’t see Monty, so I assume he’s in the bathroom or something. I decide to head back to bed, but I stop when I hear a noise in the hallway.

I hide behind a corner, then sneak a look. It’s dark and for a long time it’s silent again—then the knob slowly turns and the door opens. My heart vaults. I’m about to call Sim to tell her we’ve been discovered–

It’s just Monty.

I let out a breath in relief. Monty carefully closes the door behind him, glancing around. He’s got a brown paper bag in one hand.

I step out of my hiding place, arms crossed. He yelps.

“Where have you been?”

“Jesus Christ, Perce, don’t scare me like that.”

“What’s that?” My eyes snag onto the bag in his hand. He’s holding it at the top, paper scrunched up around something slim, like a collar–

My stomach drops. “Monty. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Did what?” He’s realized I know where he went, and is back to acting standoffish. He pulls the bottle out and tosses the bag aside. “Relax, darling, I didn’t get caught. There’s no problem.”

“ _ Yes _ , there is.” My voice spikes. I put a hand to my temple, trying to steady myself and keep from lashing out—this is a tough situation for all of us, arguing won’t get us anywhere—but I can’t help it. “How— _ where _ did you even get the money for that? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“What, I tell you in confidence that I steal for the poor and suddenly I steal  _ everything _ ? Thanks for that, Percy.” He starts unscrewing the bottle, and when his first attempt fails, he shifts his hand stronger. The lid pops off with just a tap. “And besides,” he mutters, “you had some spare change in your pockets.”

“You–  _ what _ ?!” And by God, I love this man with everything I have in me, but the past few days have  _ not _ been easy on me and he can be a real pain in the ass when he wants to be. “ _ We could’ve still used that _ , you prick.”

“For what?”

“Food, for starters? Nevermind my goddamn meds?”

A flash of guilt travels over his face. “Sim will think of something.”

“Sim’s only human. We’re in enough trouble as it is and you had to spend the little money we had on  _ alcohol _ ?” I grit my teeth and mumble, “Typical.”

His discomfort turns into sharp-ended anger. “What was that?”

“I said  _ typical _ .”

I can tell he wants to retort, but he settles for rolling his eyes and putting the bottle to his lips. “Whatever.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He stops, collar at his mouth. “Dare do what?”

“Drink that.”

He glares at me. “I already bought it, darling. What’s the difference?”

“It’s  _ bad for you _ .”

“So is being a goddamn monster and running from the cops but you don’t hear me complaining about that, do you?” he snaps. He lifts the bottle again.

“I mean it, Monty. Don’t.”

He considers me, then, holding my gaze all the while, he tips the bottle up and takes several swallows.

I leap across the hallway and snatch it out of his hand. The liquid sloshes over the collar, a few drops hitting the carpet. Monty yelps. “ _ Hey! _ ” He takes a swipe at the bottle, but I hold it over his head. He reaches for it, trying to pull down my arm, but it’s too far away. He growls and shifts taller, snatching it from me and trying to turn his back for another few swallows. I try to pull it from his hand but I can’t reach—he’s holding me back with little effort and the best I can do is get on his nerves. The next time my fingertips brush the cold glass, he snarls again and throws me off of him with a shift in the shoulders. I’m tossed backwards, spine harshly colliding with the wall. I let out a gasp as I fall down to the floor, curling up with my back to him.

Monty doesn’t move straight away. I hear him shifting smaller again, panting a little bit as he watches me. “Percy?” His voice is thin. A few steps in my direction. “Percy, are you all right?”

I don’t respond.

“Shit,  _ Percy _ .” He sinks down on his knees beside me, shaking me with one hand as he’s still holding the bottle with the other. “Please be okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

I open one eye, then, before he can realize I tricked him, I snatch the bottle from his hand and make a run for the kitchen.

Monty curses and trips to his feet. I’m at the door when he grabs my sweater and yanks me back until I’m face to face with him. I try to break free but he’s strangling the fabric, so instead I lift the bottle out of his reach.

“Don’t make me take it from you,” he breathes. His pupils are slit and there’s something genuinely feral in his expression. “You know you can’t win this.”

I know I can’t. But I’ve stood by for years and done nothing as he drank and drank and drank, always spiraling further down. No more. “You’d hurt me to get at this?”

“I don’t want to,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Then  _ don’t _ .”

“Percy, you don’t understand, I  _ need _ that.” His eyes flit to the bottle, big and hungry.

“ _ No _ , you don’t.”

“Percy…” he warns me, slowly shifting taller.

I turn the bottle upside down.

“ _ No! _ ” He lets me go and makes a snatch for it, trying to wrangle it right side up again as the bottle’s contents splash all over our hands. He’s stronger, it’s not even a contest—he wrenches it from my hand and pushes me aside, moving toward the door leading to the living room as he drinks from it again. I tackle him and he yelps—together we fall down to the floor. As he takes a moment to recover from that, I crawl on top of him and reach out, though he’s still got the good sense to keep the bottle away from me. He grabs my arm and bites me.

I let out a cry, more from surprise than pain—he’s still got his human teeth, so it could’ve been worse. Still, I knock the bottle out of his hand—it rolls away and Monty tries to go after it, but I put my weight into pinning him down against the carpet–

“ _ What _ is going on in here?!”

We both cease our struggle to look up. The door to the dining room has opened and Sim is glaring down at us, arms crossed as she beholds the mess that is the hallway: stains all over the place, us, tangled together, Monty half-shifted and me with a bite mark on my forearm, both of us reaching for a bottle that’s rolling away and hitting the wall with a soft  _ tink! _

I instantly go red. Monty, however, uses the distraction to crawl forward and grab the bottle to put it at his lips again. He takes a swig, then frowns. He holds it out in front of him, collar tipped down—but only a few droplets fall out of it. He lets out a growl of frustration and tosses it aside.

“I’m  _ waiting _ .” Sim’s gaze lands on the bottle, then her eyes narrow. “Where did you get that?”

“Monty went out and bought it,” I say, sitting up. Monty sends me an angry, betrayed look.

“ _ He _ –” Sim stops herself, touching her fingers to her forehead as she collects herself. Then she turns to Monty and says between gritted teeth, “And you thought this was a good idea  _ why _ , exactly?”

“No one was suspicious,” Monty pulls up his shoulders, huddling away in my sweater and keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “I only spoke to the vendor.”

“Do I  _ really _ have to explain? Are you really  _ that stupid _ ?!”

“What does it  _ matter _ ?” He’s getting really angry now, standing up. “What difference does it make? We’re stranded here for God knows how long, counting our days until the government busts in here and arrests us all. Why  _ bother _ ?”

“They’re not going to find us if you  _ don’t take unnecessary risks _ . And for what?  _ Alcohol?! _ Is that really the first thing on your mind in a situation like this?”

“Always is,” I mutter. It’s a low blow but I’m exhausted and just so, so angry.

Monty’s head snaps in my direction. I can see his teeth shifting into fangs behind his lips. “Mind your own  _ goddamn business _ , Newton.”

“Your business  _ is _ my business.”

“What, ‘cause you’re my best friend? Because you  _ love _ me?  _ Please. _ ”

“Because we’re  _ stuck together _ . From here on out we’ve only got each other.”

“I don’t  _ need you _ ,” he snaps. “And you don’t need me. So why don’t you just get off my goddamn back?”

“Listen to me, Montague,” Sim cuts in. Her tone shifts from controlled to enraged within a sentence. “I have been sitting beside that radio for _hours_ and no one has responded. No one at all. None of the other bases or the safehouses or not even our lone agents or informants— _no one_. And there could be plenty of reasons behind that but let’s be _realistic_ here. The Crown and Cleaver has never faced a raid like this before. They must’ve been planning this for _years_ , and now they’ve succeeded. They took down the entire Resistance. The three of us are _the only ones left in this entire city._ _We three_ are the _only thing_ between the Duke and the Council and totalitarian rule, the last line of defense against whatever horrible things they’re planning with their experiments, the only chance the other Resistance members have of escaping a death sentence out there in the apocalypse. And _you_ –” she turns to Monty, “–are the only Shifter left with us who can still make that difference. So right now you are going to _get it together_ because you’re wrong. We do need each other. And most of all...” All the fight seems to drain from her with a single sigh. She’s panting, expression suddenly open and vulnerable, tone soft. “This town needs you.”

Monty takes it like a punch to the face. He’s been slinking down, the armor he’d been putting up during the argument before slowly waning, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. But when she finishes, all that rage pours back into him. “You’re wrong,” he says, voice low.

Sim rolls her eyes. “Wrong about what?”

“About me.” With a start, I notice there are painful-looking spikes emerging from his back and shoulders. “You don’t need me. No one’s ever needed me and they were right to.”

“Monty,” I say softly.

“We only just met and there’s no way for you to have known, so I’ll just spell it out for you, shall I?” Teeth curling, voice gravelly, pupils split. He spreads his arms. “Hi, I’m Henry Montague, the biggest fuck-up you’ll ever meet. I got kicked out of boarding school so ever since I’ve just been filling my days with drinking and sleeping around. My hobbies include letting my father down and  _ pissing people off _ . I haven’t done a worthwhile thing in my entire goddamn life and I never will.  _ Yes _ , I’m a Shifter, and  _ yes _ , I’ve been trying to help people, but only out of  _ spite _ and to get my mind off the fact that I can’t stand the sight of myself and that I haven’t been able to function sober in  _ years _ –”

“ _ Monty _ .”

He snaps out of it. A few blinks, eyes darting between Sim—who’s gaping—and me, then he realizes he’s been shifting taller and broader until he’s against the ceiling. He starts a little, shrinking back down. He wipes at his face and I realize he’s crying. He tries to put on a brave face, but his wobbly voice betrays him. “Hate to break it to you, darling,” he says to Sim, “but if your little Resistance depends on me, then it’s already over.”

And with that, he storms off.

I sigh deeply, burying my face in my hands. Sim is still staring after Monty—I hear a door slam distantly.

“I’m really sorry,” I offer weakly. “About…” I gesture around, “...and…” I nod after Monty.

“Wasn’t your fault, was it?” she says without looking back.

“Partially.” I put my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “I should know better than to snipe back at him. It’s just…” Another deep sigh. “It’s a lot to take in.”

She glances back, features softening. She sighs and readjusts her headscarf. “It’s okay. I pressured the both of you too much just now.”

I smile weakly. “I think we all just need some sleep.”

She shakes her head. “No, I can’t. I have to stay by the radio in case anyone–”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning. If someone’s transmitting right now, they’ll repeat in the morning.”

For another moment it looks like she wants to argue, then she drops her head. “You’re right.” She gives me a tired smile. “Will you be all right?”

She’s referring to Monty. I nod. “We always have been.”

I find Monty on a corner of our bed, legs pulled up and face buried in his arms. He’s shaking and he’s still thorned.

I hesitate in the doorway. “Monty? Can I come in?”

He starts, choking on a sob. It takes him a while to formulate an answer. His voice is wrecked with tears. “You sleep here, don’t you?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He lets out a sound that might’ve been a laugh.

I sit down on the bed, a foot between us, and wait for a while. He’s crying but he’s trying to stifle it—unsuccessfully. I’m trying to figure out what to say.

“It’s nothing,” he eventually chokes out. When I don’t reply right away, he adds, “The… The crying. It’s just that shifts take a lot emotionally and I haven’t been able to rest up and–”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. I reach out a hand, and Monty glances up.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” he says.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He huffs, and I think I catch a weak smile. As I move closer, the spikes shrink back until they’re just little knobs. I pull him closer and he melts against me, face squished against my chest as he cries harder. I rub his back until all the spikes have disappeared and his sobs have been reduced to teary hiccups.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

He scoffs. “For what?”

“For what I said back there. I didn’t mean it.”

“It was true, though.”

“I had no right to say it. I was just looking to pick a fight.”

Monty smiles. “Percy Newton, picking a fight.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve known me longer than today.”

“Also true.”

He lifts one hand to wipe at his eyes. “I’m sorry too. For snapping at you and… and for going out and drinking.” He awkwardly glances at my arm. “And for biting you in a non-sexy way.”

I snort.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” I guide him until we’re sitting up. “Now go change your clothes. I want to go to bed.”

A few minutes later we’re snuggled together in bed. I’m on the verge of passing out.

“I’m going to have to get sober, won’t I?” Monty says quietly.

I open my eyes and find him wide awake. He’s looking pale and scared.

“...That would be preferable,” I admit, and Monty sighs. “But don’t… don’t do it because you think you have some obligation to the city. Because what Sim said. I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to, okay? And if you sober up… do it for yourself.”

“That might be too difficult,” he says quietly. “Is it okay if I do it for you?”

I study him for a while. Then I press a soft kiss to his forehead. “If that’s easier.”

Monty shifts in my arms, moving closer to me. “I’m scared,” he whispers. Then he chuckles. “Being sober  _ sucks _ .”

I huff and run a hand through his hair. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be with you through it.”

He glances up at me. “Even when I’m being an asshole?”

“Especially when you’re being an asshole.”

He smiles. He pushes himself up and presses a kiss to my lips. Then he settles down again, head on my shoulder.

“I love you too,” I whisper.

When I wake up, I’m relieved to find him still at my side. My arm has fallen asleep, though—I try to shift my weight off of it without waking him, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

“Have been for quite some time.” He opens his eyes, then flinches. “My head is killing me.”

I smile softly. “I think I saw some painkillers in the bathroom. Know what—why don’t you stay here for a bit and I’ll go fetch you a glass.”

He hums.

I drag myself out of bed—mostly hindered by Monty trying to drag me back in, all cute smiles and sleepy movements—fetch him the promised painkiller, and rummage through the kitchen cabinets for breakfast. Sim’s already up, sitting near the radio with her chin atop folded arms. She gives me a tired smile when I enter and tells me she’s already eaten.

By the time I’ve made us a few sandwiches, I hear a noise coming from the sitting room. That’s where I find Monty, curled up on the sofa, watching the ancient television.

“We’re famous,” he says as I come to stand behind him.

My heart vaults when I recognize my own face on the screen. It’s shown alongside security camera footage of our encounter at the gate, including Monty shifting. You can’t tell it’s him, though, in the video’s poor quality.

“ _...these two individuals were not arrested while the Crown and Cleaver was disabled and they are currently in hiding _ ,” the news reader says on low volume. “ _ One of them is Percy Newton, eighteen, and the other is an unknown Shifter, likely the so-called Gentleman Freak who’s been responsible for several burglaries over the past year. This pair is highly dangerous and if signaled, authorities should be alerted immediately… _ ”

It feels like being hit with a truck. I let myself slink down on the couch, putting the two plates down beside me. Monty glances at me. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” I say. Then, “Actually, no.”

“Understandable,” Monty says lightly. “That’s such an unflattering picture of you.”

A snort of laughter escapes me. “What, don’t you think I’m handsome?”

“You  _ are _ handsome. It’s just a bad picture.”

I pass him a plate and pick up my own, but my appetite’s gone. We watch in silence as more footage is shown from the Resistance raids, all the people taken prisoner, their trial announced in a little less than two months. The Duke himself holds a press conference to answer questions and discuss plans.

“ _ But there is no reason to panic _ ,” he concludes his speech. “ _ With the Crown and Cleaver arrested, our city has been safer than ever. My best people are looking for these last two criminals as we speak. Soon we’ll never have to fear any Shifter again. _ ”

Monty turns off the tv and lets his head fall back, exhaling slowly. “Well,” he eventually says, “that really lifted my spirits.” He looks at me. “Has Sim heard anything yet?”

I shake my head.

He bites his lip. “It’s really down to us, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so.”

He doesn’t reply right away. When he does, his voice is pitched. “What can we possibly do, Percy? It’s not like the two of us can just go out and topple the government.”

“Well…” I pull my legs onto the couch, turning toward him. “I think our first step is to take care of ourselves. And each other. And for everything else… we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

A ghost of a smile passes over his lips. “I suppose.”

“How are you feeling, actually? About…”

“Like I’d gnaw off my own foot for a drink.”

I don’t know what to say to that. My mind goes back to our fight from last night, and that brings along the knowledge that  _ if _ he’d decide to go out and drink, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. But in the end, I suppose it has to be his choice.

“Sorry,” he says when he catches me watching.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me.”

He gives me a grateful smile.

“What can I do for you? Right now?”

“Just…” His hand lands on my wrist. Not demanding. Just a question. “Don’t go anywhere?”

I slide an arm around his back and he curls up against me. I touch my lips to his forehead. “I promise.”

The first week is the toughest. We’re all doing our best but the uncertainty gets on our nerves. Withdrawal is hard on Monty. I try to support him in any way I can, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he should be doing this in a clinic and not in a safehouse while the whole town is after us. We get into petty squabbles, though nothing as serious as our argument on the first night, and we make up quickly.

Nine days after our arrival, I’m making eggs for lunch. The stove hisses and I don’t hear the footsteps, so I start a little when I suddenly feel a pair of arms wrapping around me from behind. I quickly recover and lean into the touch. Monty stands on his toes and kisses the back of my neck, smiling against my skin.

“You’re in a good mood today,” I say.

“Can’t I show my boyfriend that I love him?”

That one word is almost enough to make me drop the spatula.

We haven’t actually discussed  _ us _ since we confessed our love to each other—being mostly preoccupied with avoiding death and capture—and though we’ve definitely acted the part, we’ve never actually agreed to officially  _ date _ . But here he is, stating it out loud, with no weight to the words at all.

Or, maybe some weight. Not to the words but to the silence as he awaits my response.

I turn around in his hold and find him looking up at me, nervous and expectant. “Your boyfriend is making us lunch. You should show him how much you love him some other time, where he can’t risk burning the eggs.”

Monty’s face lights up, then settles into a crooked smirk. “Why? Am I distracting you?” And at that, he grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me down into a kiss.

It’s been a little over a week, but kissing Monty still makes me lose my mind. I won’t lie; ever since slowly falling for him, I’ve imagined it occasionally—late at night or at a bar while averting my eyes as he leaned in to kiss some stranger he’d just met—but nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Monty knows what he’s doing and he knows how it wrecks me, which only makes him more smug. It’s a delightful nightmare that I don’t ever want to wake up from.

Monty pulls away slowly, both of us a little out of breath. He turns my head aside with a soft touch, his lips ghosting over my cheek as they move closer to my ear.

“Darling…” he whispers, and it takes everything in me not to grab his face and kiss him again.

“Yes?” I instead say, breathlessly.

He waits a long time, and my mind goes over every possible thing he could say—something sweet, something romantic, something playful or maybe all of the above. My every sense, tuned into him. When he finally speaks, it’s slow and quiet. “...Your eggs are burning.”

“...What?  _ Oh _ .” Finally, I notice the burning smell. I turn back to the stove and find it spitting, eggs blackened and dried. I try to slide them onto a plate in hopes of salvaging them but it’s pointless. I switch off the stove with a sigh while Monty laughs and leaves the room.

“Those were for you, you know,” I call after him, peeved.

But he just laughs, and we both know I can’t stay mad at him.

It’s strange. My life used to be ordinary with my feelings for Monty as the most complicated thing. Now the world is upside down, and my relationship with Monty is the simplest thing of all.

Not that I’m complaining—especially not in moments like these, as we’re so tangled up that we’re tripping over each other entering our room, slamming the door behind us, and all it took was a few tasteful limericks.

The backs of my legs collide with the bed and I sort of drag Monty down with me, his teeth knocking against mine as breathing currently takes second place to something else. We start laughing for no reason, and then Monty sits up so he’s straddling my waist. He looks down at me, an absurd mix of fondness and hunger in his eyes, then he leans down and starts unbuttoning my shirt, lips to my neck.

I can feel in more ways than one that he wants to take things further, and a wave of panic washes over me. “Monty,” I breathe. He hums but doesn’t stop. I take his face in my hands and make him look up at me. “Wait, stop.”

He blinks, looking an absolute mess—hair askew and mouth hanging open, lips puffed. “What is it?” he asks breathlessly.

“Can we just…” I swallow, suddenly flustered. “Is it okay if we– Would you mind if we’d, uh…” I take a deep breath. “If we wait for a bit?”

“Oh.” Surprise. Uncertainty. “Oh. I didn’t mean– I’m sorry, did I rush you? I just got the impression that you– but you’re right, I should’ve asked, I–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I run a hand through his hair, and he smiles, still a bit fearfully. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I thought I wanted to but– I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Oh. Okay.” He climbs off of me and lies down at my side.

I’m still nervous. “Okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just that you, uh…” I have no way how to end that sentence in a non-rude way. Still, he gets my point. “...I don’t know,” I settle on.

Monty’s quiet for a while. Then he asks, “You’re sure it’s not because of… me?”

“What? Monty, no, of course not.” I roll onto my side so we’re face to face, our noses brushing. “It’s me, really. The thing is that I…” I’m glad it’s dark, because I can feel myself going red, “...I… I’ve never  _ been _ with anyone before.”

“Really?” I’m not sure how to interpret his tone.

I bite my lip. “Is it really so strange to think I’ve gone this long without it?”

“No, no,” he quickly amends. “It’s more that I find it hard to understand how every single person you meet doesn’t want to climb you like a ladder.”

I laugh, some of my nerves settling. It’s so easy sometimes, loving someone who knows you almost better than you know yourself. “Yes, well, I’ve been rather occupied with most of my life with wanting only you.”

“Oh, Perce.” He touches his forehead to mine. “You’re so monogamous.”

I smile. “So you’re sure it’s okay?”

“Of course. Percy,  _ of course _ .” Another pause I can’t decipher. “If you’re…” He trails off. “If it isn’t because…”

He doesn’t finish, just avoids my eyes. I nudge his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing.” Forced smile. He kisses me on the nose, then climbs over me to get off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower. Be right back.”

With that, he leaves. I fall asleep before he gets back.

We slowly settle into a new normal. Sim goes out and gets us groceries once or twice a week. Monty sleeps late and goes to bed early. We follow the news. We take turns waiting by the radio, but no answer comes.

About a week in, Sim came home with medication for me. It took her a while to find an apothecary she could trust, but she did, and now I’m set for a few more months.

One less thing to worry about.

Eleven days in, I’m rummaging through the apartment, taking stock of everything we’ve got lying around. Aside from the most direly needed supplies like food, clothes, toiletries and the such, there actually isn’t much: two worn decks of cards, some old books, a few pens and paper, a set of knitting needles and yarn, … 

There’s one closet I haven’t been able to inspect yet, as it’s locked. I question Sim about it.

“Oh,” she says, putting the headphones on the table. “That’s for weapons.” She raises an eyebrow when I give her a horrified look. “Well, this isn’t a holiday home, is it?” She gets up, digs in her pocket for her chain of keys, and opens it.

It’s… not as impressive as expected. There’s no debate about what this wardrobe’s contents are for, though. One gun, ammunition, two tasers, rope and some knives. Something else catches my eye.

Suspended against the wardrobe’s back, clearly separate from everything else, hangs a sword.

Carefully making sure I don’t bump into any of the other weapons, I stretch out a hand. It’s in its scabbard, belt for wearing it attached, not as obtrusive as it could’ve been but still giving off an air of respect.

“Like that one, do you?”

I start. Sim’s watching me. “I was just looking,” I say.

She motions for me to step aside, then, very carefully, she takes it out. “You’re looking in the right way, though.” She unsheats it, holding it above her head. Monty looks up from the couch.

The blade is absolutely brilliant, the nearly white metal catching the lamp light and reflecting it back even brighter. It seems to hum faintly.

“...A sword,” Monty says. He sounds a little disappointed. “Not sure that’s any use against the government.”

Sim glances at him from her peripherals. “Not just any sword. Step back.”

I press myself against the wall. Monty doesn’t budge, just hugs a pillow.

Sim takes the handle with both hands, lifts the weapon up, then, lightning fast, slices through the air.

I flinch, closing my eyes on instinct. When I look again, she’s still swinging it around, albeit a bit slower. That’s when I notice something odd; when the blade moves, a part of it seems to linger behind, like a motion blur except  _ not _ . My mouth falls open.

Sim’s watching me with a smile. “There aren’t many of these left, that’s why we don’t even keep them at the base. The blade’s metal is semi-liquid,” she explains. “Caught between phases. So if you move it fast enough…” She twirls it around in a circle, switching the hand she’s holding it with fast, and the motion almost makes it a solid shape.

“You get a shield,” I say, a little in disbelief.

“One of the advantages, yes.” She tosses it in the air and catches it again. “It’s razor-sharp too. Particles stretching out thin making the edge impossibly fine. Because it’s both solid and liquid, it’s near indestructible too.” She lets it spin around once, this time with just one hand. “You can block bullets with this if you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Monty peeks out from where he was hiding on the couch.

“Monty, you survived a bullet shower.”

“That’s still no reason to wave around sharp objects in my vicinity. I’m small and delicate.”

“That I won’t argue with.”

Sim puts the sword away in its scabbard, then suddenly pins me with her gaze. “How’s your swordfighting?”

I stumble a step back. “Wh–  _ me? _ ”

“Yes, you.” She walks toward me, deliberately. “When they come kicking down the door here tomorrow, what will you do?”

“Uhh.” I exchange a glance with Monty, who’s looking just as confused. “Go… find… Monty?”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll protect you.” He flashes me a smile.

“What will you do when he’s not around?” Sim insists. “You’re a wanted man, Percy Newton. What will you do when there’s no one to protect you?” She looks back at Monty. “And who will protect him?”

“I can fend for myself.” Monty sits up. “We’ll be fine.”

Sim looks back at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She has a point. On our two encounters with someone trying to kill us, I’ve been the deadweight. Everything turned out fine, but  _ still _ —there’s no guarantee they will turn out fine in the future.

And it can’t hurt to prepare.

“What are you suggesting?” I ask.

One corner of her mouth tugs up. “Tomorrow morning, 8 a.m. This living room. Don’t be late.”

When you’re told you’re about to learn how to swordfight, you imagine it will be fun. You imagine being handed a blade and sparring like in old swashbuckling movies. You imagine looking cool and impressing your boyfriend.

You do  _ not _ , in any way, imagine being woken up at the crack of dawn. You do not imagine being forced to do daily strength-building exercises. You do not imagine being handed a wooden sword because you’re deemed not trustworthy with the real thing yet. You do not imagine repeating the same set of moves for hours, perfecting your grip on the handle, the arc in which you swing, the stance of your legs. You do not imagine your break consisting of a lecture on the history of swordsmanship, of the properties of this particular blade, its strengths and weaknesses. And you do not imagine that if there’s still time between sparring while your arms feel like they’re about to fall off and dinner, that your teacher will squeeze in some hand-to-hand combat practice, just in case.

Well. At least you still get to impress your boyfriend.

“ _ Again _ ,” Sim snaps, as I go chin to floor for the hundredth time that afternoon.

I groan and push myself up to my elbows, then find myself face to face with Monty, who’s hanging upside down off the back of the couch and smiling at me. “Come on, darling,” he says with a grin. “You were doing great.”

Monty sits right side up again and offers me a hand. “Besides,” he whispers, as he leans in to pat the sweat off my brow with a towel. “I am very much enjoying the sights.” At that, he taps my biceps and presses a quick kiss to my jaw.

So, yeah. Pros and cons to the outlaw life.

I turn back to Sim, accepting the glass of water Monty offers me without looking and emptying it. “I need a break.”

“You’ll get a break when you can last longer than a minute in a fight with me. Monty, you’re distracting him.”

Monty looks up from where he was kissing my neck. “Merely emotionally supporting my boyfriend, ma’am.”

I nod earnestly. “Really the most useful occupation for him right now.”

“Is it?” Sim asks.

“Uh. Yeah,” Monty says.

“You could be training too, you know.”

“Wh–  _ swordfighting _ ? Me? No thanks.”

“Not swordfighting—though that couldn’t hurt either. I mean, have you got your shifting under control?  _ Fully? _ ”

Monty exchanges an uneasy glance with me. “Uh, I guess?”

“Can you shift whenever you want to? And  _ not _ shift whenever you don’t want to?” It’s him she’s cornering this time, and after having Monty lovingly tease me with every training, it’s fairly entertaining.

“Um. I guess it happens automatically sometimes. When I’m angry or upset. And, well, I can shift when I want to, mostly.” He frowns. “Except when I’m worn out from a previous shift.”

“Then those are the things you work on. Exercise control. Increase your endurance. The authorities are after you—you have to be prepared. Practice starts now.”

We fall into our own routines. Sim still trains me, but I’m at a stage where I can practice on my own for most of the time, half keeping an eye on Monty across the room as Sim tests his shifting abilities.

Monty was pretty awkward about it in the beginning, though.

“Maybe we should do this somewhere else,” he’d said, eyeing me with a nervous smile. “Don’t want to disturb my darling.”

“You’re fine,” I said, and Sim immediately added, “Yes, I want to keep an eye on Percy. Now, come on. I’ve seen you do it before. A claw.”

Monty’s skin on one hand started to twist, like there were tiny bubbles rising from under it, knuckles growing bigger—but then it shifted back to normal. “No, sorry. Can’t do it today.”

Sim frowned. “What kind of excuse is that?”

“I’m just not feeling it.”

“You don’t need to  _ feel it _ . You just need to do it.”

“I’m tired.”

“ _ Monty. _ ”

“Fine, fine.” Monty casted another glance at me that might’ve passed for subtle, then stretched dramatically, before turning me his back. I heard that bone-breaking noise—it put me on edge, as it’d been a while since I last heard it.

It suddenly occurred to me that he hadn’t shifted at all since the first night.

So we practice side by side. Monty focuses on precise shifting, less messily than normal, applications of different forms, and exercising control. Sim takes to startling him at random points during the day, so he can learn to not shift on reflex. I get the impression things are going pretty well for him.

Still, he only shifts when he thinks I’m not looking. Which leads me to a suspicion.

“Hey, Monty,” I call while I’m preparing dinner one day. “Could you help me open this jar?”

Monty looks up from the radio. “Hm? Oh, sure.” I hand him the object and he starts trying to unscrew the lid. After ten seconds, he gives up and hands it back. “No, sorry. Go ask Sim.”

I falter. “Monty, you can shift yourself superstrength.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“You picked up the couch this morning.”

“Your point?”

“Can’t you just… use that to open the jar?”

“Oh.” His eyes dart to the side, nervous pull on his mouth. “You mean, shift?”

“Yes?”

He bites his lip, trying to read me. Hesitantly, he takes the jar from me again. “Okay then.” Watching me all the while, he shifts his hand stronger, then makes quick work of unscrewing the lid and handing it back. “There you go.”

I smile at him, then kiss him on the forehead. “Thank you.”

I make a habit out of it. For innocuous tasks I ask Monty’s help—getting something off a top shelf, picking up a wardrobe so I can grab the pen that rolled under it, stuff like that. I don’t want to bring it up and make him feel awkward about it.

I just want him to understand that it’s okay.

One afternoon I find Monty in full monster form huddled away in a living room corner. Or, rather, taking up half the room. He opens one eye when he hears me come in, then stirs uneasily.

“Hi,” I say, hopefully successfully hiding that I started a bit. I swear I don’t mind, it just catches me a little off guard sometimes. “Sim making you stay shifted for extended periods of time, is she?”

Monty lets out a sad hum that’s mostly a sigh. I smile. I walk over to the couch, then, I change my mind.

I cross the room and sit down on the floor with my back against Monty’s side. He tenses up but doesn’t budge, just watches me in curiosity. I put down my yarn and knitting needles on my lap—yes, I picked up knitting, I have to do something—and lean aside to press a kiss to his temple.

He hums again, more contently this time, then lets his eyes slide shut.

I’m practicing swordfighting and Monty’s hanging on the couch, watching me with equal parts fondness and… well. He doesn’t particularly hide that he finds me very attractive while I do this. In general, really, but particularly when I’m practicing.

“It’s about the muscles,” he’d said once. “The sweat. The knowledge that if someone would harm me you could kick their asses.”

I stop to drink some water after a series of exercises. Monty sits up on the back of the couch and gives me a sly look. “You know,” he says, “I happen to find expert swordmanship an extremely attractive quality in a man.”

I chuckle. “Since when?”

“Since you started swordfighting.” He hops off the couch and walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “It’s so nice to have someone to protect me. Someone who can keep me safe in most situations.”

“ _ Most _ situations?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. He’s practically standing against me, eyes low.

“Yes,” he says. “No one’s perfect, darling. I won’t hold it against you.”

“And in what situations would I fail, if I may ask?”

He pushes himself up on his toes, lips brushing mine. Eyes lidded. Voice low. “...When you’re distracted,” he whispers.

And with that, he snatches my sword and darts away.

I’m left confused, then peeved. Monty laughs. I try to bite down a smile. “Oh, it’s on.”

“What is?” Monty blinks innocently at me.

“Give me my sword back.”

“ _ Make me. _ ”

“I will.” I snatch up another practice sword from the table.

Monty watches me with interest. “Oh, what are we doing, darling?”

“A contest. First one who spends fifteen seconds on the floor loses.”

He does a preposterous little bow. “I accept this challenge.”

Monty has also, to some degree, picked up swordfighting. Mostly out of boredom. He’s half-decent at it, though I can always beat him when we spar. He tells me that’s the main goal, anyway.

“Just to make you feel better about your skills, darling,” he’ll say.

We move back until we’re at opposite ends of the room. From there, we circle each other, one perfectly mirrored step at a time. Monty smirks at me.

Then he crosses the room and leaps at me.

Our blades meet with the  _ clank! _ of metal against metal—Sim has at least allowed us to practice with blunt actual swords, instead of wooden ones, at this point. Monty strikes again and I block. He’s far too enthusiastic for precision. He’s leaving his left side completely exposed, but I’m actually enjoying this, so I don’t want it to be over too soon. The next time he takes a swipe at me I spin out of the way, until I’m half behind him, and elbow him against the shoulder. He stumbles a few steps away, then looks up at me in insult. I smirk at him.

“Ah,” he says, temporarily resting his blade on his shoulder. “My adversary thinks he’s bested me just because he has a cute smile, huh? Well, think  _ again _ .”

He strikes again, a little more unexpectedly this time, but he’s far away enough that I have plenty of time to respond. I take a swing, forcing him to lean back, which leaves him off-balance enough that one tug of my foot around his ankle has him falling over.

“Might want to stay down,” I tell him. “To save yourself further embarrassment.”

He rubs at his head, then looks up at me in challenge. “To save  _ me _ further embarrassment?” He uses the sword as a support to stand up. “Or  _ you _ ?”

He launches into a series of attacks, fast and energetic, but he loses a lot of force due to his movements being sloppy. We end up blade to blade, putting all our force into it—or, at least, he is. I’m still pretty relaxed. I take the opportunity to swiftly kiss him on the lips.

Monty grumbles, amused and annoyed, then takes a step back to swing at me again. A few more collisions of metal and I’ve driven him back. He starts as he bumps into the wall. I take the moment of distraction and disarm him, sending his sword flying through the room.

He looks surprised, then grins that stupid grin at me as I put the tip of my sword to his throat.

“I’ve been cornered,” he says, while I move in closer, still keeping the blade to his neck. “By a worthy opponent.”

“Hmm.” I touch my nose to his, eyes closed. “Will my adversary congratulate me on my victory?”

He brushes his lips against mine, a breath short of a kiss. “I would, darling,” he says, the smirk in his voice, “but victory isn’t yours.”

I open my eyes, just in time to see him shift. He stays mostly human, except taller and stronger, some scales poking out from under his shirt and rising up to protect his neck from my swordspoint. I take one step back before he’s jumping me, sending us both to the floor and kicking my sword out of my hand as he pins me.

“That’s cheating!” I protest. I try to squirm from under his grip but there’s no point.

Maybe I should be smarter about this.

Monty smiles sweetly. “All’s fair in love and war, darling.”

I hum. “I suppose  _ I _ should congratulate the victor, then.”

I kiss him.

Monty’s genuinely startled by it. He freezes up, then melts, lifting a hand to cup my cheek. I can feel him shifting back overtop of me, weight diminishing. Slowly, I roll us over, until he’s under me and he has completely forgotten about our fight. It’s a sweet kiss, too—something gentle but desperate in his touch, something of taking and giving.

After a full minute, I slowly pull back. “Darling,” I whisper against his lips.

“Yeah?”

I can’t bite down the grin. “I win.”

His eyes fly open. “What?!”

I sit up, still on top of him, and cross my arms. “I held you to the floor for fifteen seconds. I win.”

“B-but,” he splutters. “ _ I _ held you to the floor.”

“Not for fifteen seconds.”

“I can’t believe this!”

“Never let your guard down, love,” I say, leaning in to quickly kiss him again. Monty hums, dismayed. He watches me in betrayal for another moment, then, with a sigh, leans up and kisses me again.

I distantly hear the door latch, the jingling of keys, a few footsteps. Then Sim’s peeved voice from the doorway. “ _ This is a living room. _ ”

I’m instantly flustered but Monty just breaks down laughing, making it difficult for me to stay serious. I hear Sim walking away, still resting my forehead against Monty’s and smiling against his lips.

“Poor Sim,” I say.

Monty shrugs. “She bullies us enough.”

“Pretty sure she only makes it so hard on us because she’s tired of us being clingy all the time.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop.” He smiles. “Now, where were we?”


End file.
